


Historical Fiction

by endofthyme



Series: Dragon Prince Works [3]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Aaravos Week 2020 (The Dragon Prince), Aaravos is in the Mirror (The Dragon Prince), Curiosity, Distrust, Episode: s02e08 The Book of Destiny, Extended Scene, Fanfiction, International Fanworks Day 2020, M/M, POV Aaravos (The Dragon Prince), Past Aaravos/Ziard (The Dragon Prince), Reading Aloud, The City of Elarion (The Dragon Prince), Ziard is Dead (The Dragon Prince)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22726912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endofthyme/pseuds/endofthyme
Summary: Viren brings some of those indecipherable texts down to the dungeon with him. Aaravos indulges both their curiosities. The past, and the truth, are both touched upon.
Relationships: Aaravos/Viren (The Dragon Prince), Aaravos/Ziard (The Dragon Prince)
Series: Dragon Prince Works [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046407
Comments: 12
Kudos: 59
Collections: International Fanworks Day 2020





	Historical Fiction

**Author's Note:**

> Happy International Fanworks Day! The prompt was for a drabble but, clearly, it escaped me. Off by a factor of 20-something is close, right?
> 
> (And, funny coincidence, I started writing this before I realized it was also Aaravos Week. But looking at the prompt list made me focus more on the 'mirror' theme while I was writing, so I'm counting it! Happy Aaravos Week!)

Viren stormed into the room in high dudgeon, dropping his staff at the door and a bundle of scrolls on the side table, shoving aside the spell ingredients still piled there. "What's going on?!" he demanded, gesturing at the precarious arrangement. "Every time I found a mention of you in an ancient scroll or tome, the entire passage disappeared as soon as I looked! What game are you playing?"

Aaravos, from the mirror, feigned disinterest, but he couldn't help but sneak an inquisitive glance at the rolls of parchment that Viren had brought with him. His prison was filled with books, but with the length of his sentence, they had only lasted for so long. Even the books that he hated he'd read three times or more by now. He hungered for new words on a page as he'd hungered for even a moment's conversation over the years—perhaps Lord Viren would oblige him in this as well. He wondered what the humans had written about him, that the elves and dragons had wished to conceal.

Viren had in the meantime taken his hint and, reluctantly, placed Aaravos's squirming avatar atop his ear again. The delay had taken a bit of the wind out of his sails, but there was still an edge of frustration there as he asked, "Why should I trust you?"

"You shouldn't… yet," Aaravos replied, absently. He eyed the scrolls again. "But," he allowed, after a moment's pause, "perhaps I could sate both our curiosities. Hold one of those up to the mirror?"

Viren looked wary. "You can remove the enchantment?"

"Unlikely. If all your books are affected, the focus of the spell is doubtless quite far from here and very powerful. But it's probable that the text has only been warded against human eyes."

Viren crossed his arms. "And I'm supposed to just trust that what you tell me it says about you is what it actually says about you? Really?"

Aaravos shrugged, like it didn't matter to him one way or the other if Viren showed him any of the scrolls or not. "I'll read it to you exactly. You'll just have to trust that I wouldn't be able to invent several pages' worth of narcissistic accolades off the tip of my horns." Though, it wouldn't be very difficult to repurpose one of the poems he'd learned as a young elf about the Startouch elder Iktharin, and he could probably recite the entry on Archmage Metella from the _Encyclopædia Xadiana_ without much trouble—he'd read it enough times. But, no, as he'd said to his new human friend just hours earlier, he never lied. A smile curved his lip.

On the other side of the mirror, Viren was grimacing and looking back and forth between him and the mysterious documents. As Aaravos had expected—and hoped—curiosity won out. The human crossed to the table, snatched up a scroll, and unrolled it, frowning furiously down at it as, presumably, the words blurred and faded once more. With a huff, he stomped back to the mirror and pressed the parchment against the glass.

Aaravos leaned in to read… or skim, really, since he wanted to know the substance of the thing before he started reading it out. It was certainly telling a story about him, as well as—oh, stars. Shocked, he took a step back from the mirror.

"Well?!" demanded Viren, shaking the parchment a little more roughly than perhaps he should have, considering its age. "You can read it, then?"

What Aaravos should have said was no, or if he had to say yes, he should have then recited one of the alternative texts he'd thought of earlier, with the _implication_ that that was what was written there. But he was still a bit stunned and staring at the scroll, so he would have to be forgiven for saying instead: "I _can,_ but… I don't think you'll want to hear it."

That, he realized was a mistake the moment it escaped his mouth. Viren's jaw set mulishly. "You said you would read it aloud if I showed it to you. If you want me to listen to anything else you have to say, you'd best keep your word." His eyes narrowed. "And from your reaction I can already tell it will say something damning about you, so don't try to edit that out as you go, or make yourself look better."

"That's not exactly—"

"Read it," Viren interrupted, his scowl darkening.

Aaravos sighed. He supposed he had to, at this point. This was going to be… awkward. But probably moreso for Viren than for him. He cleared his throat, moved in closer to the glass, and began to read.

_Being an account of the victorious return of the human mage Ziard and the elf mage Aaravos after the deliverance of the city of Elarion._

Viren snorted eloquently. Aaravos sent him a quelling look, and he fell silent, letting Aaravos continue.

_The setting sun was just beginning to bleed color into the sky as those mages that had worked together to prevent the cataclysm arrived at the city gates to a riotous welcome. Ziard led the pack, with Aaravos a half step behind, and Ziard's students following in their wake. Some of those students had only been practicing magic for a scant few weeks and were clearly exhausted, but they grinned and waved all the same, and readily accepted the food and drink that was pressed into their hands by the grateful townsfolk._

_An impromptu parade formed around the returning heroes as they headed for the town square. Onlookers leaned out of windows waving various bits of cloth, or rushed out to join the crowd. All were joyous… except for the ones whose efforts were most instrumental in the salvation of Elarion: Ziard and Aaravos. Mage Aaravos was, as always, serene, but Ziard's face was set with grim purpose, which was most unlike him. He pressed forward, looking past everyone, and the throng parted before him, showering their excitement and embraces on the other, more approachable human mages. It was as though Ziard had, by some invisible force, been rendered untouchable to all… bar one._

_Aaravos pressed Ziard's elbow gently as they reached the square, then pulled back as Ziard clambered atop the base of the central statue and turned to face the crowd. "Friends, compatriots," he addressed them, "we have won a great victory this day." He raised his hand to silence the cheering response, then continued, "But the elves and dragons—who would have left this city to its fate to preserve their precious 'natural balance'—cannot help but notice our growing power, now. And then they will want nothing more than to maintain their own power over humanity, whatever the cost. It will not be long before they take action against every one of us, young or old, mage or no mage. And they will be dangerous foes indeed. But they do not expect much of us, and that is a weakness we will make them regret."_

_He paused, letting his message settle in the minds of his silent audience._ Viren, too, was rapt, entranced by Ziard's words mirrored in Aaravos's voice, something of that ancient speech resonating in him. _Then he raised his arms and his staff and his voice. "So, tonight: eat, drink, rejoice. But, tomorrow we put our hands to the plow. For the sake of our children, and our children's children, and the very survival of our people."_

_The cheers, when they came, were muted, but determined. Ziard smiled tightly, then climbed down from his perch. His students came up to him and each clasped his arm in turn before peeling off into the slowly-reenergizing crowd. And then it was just Aaravos, his midnight star, who caught hold of his hand and began to pull him away through the streets of Elarion._

_When they reached Ziard's lodgings, though, it was Ziard who pulled Aaravos inside, shutting the door behind them._

_They looked at each other silently for a long moment, the only sound that of muffled and distant cheering. It wasn't clear who moved first; as one, urgent fingers reached out to open clasps and let cloaks slither to the floor, and dark blue lips pressed firmly against pale pink ones. They hardly parted to draw breath, their bodies pressed full-length against each other, as they stumbled towards—_

The scroll fell from Viren's fingers to the floor. He looked down at it, a dazed expression on his face. "I…" he said. "…That was… What…?"

Aaravos adjusted the cloak around his shoulders, for lack of anything to do with his hands. He was sure the markings on his cheeks were burning brighter than usual. "A… creative reinterpretation of events from centuries ago, with myself and a… colleague of mine in the starring roles, evidently."

Viren's mouth worked soundlessly for several moments. Then he managed, in a strangled voice, to say, "A _fanfiction?"_

Aaravos blinked and tilted his head. "A…?"

"Nevermind," Viren said hastily, flapping his hands. He bent to gather the scroll back up. "Uh. I mean. None of that actually happened, someone just made it all up? Is that what you're saying?"

Aaravos hummed ambivalently. "Our return to Elarion was in general recounted faithfully. It seems likely the author was present, or heard of it directly from someone who was." What they had missed in their observations was that Ziard had been _furious_ with him that night, holding it in while they were in public in order to present a united front. He'd dragged Aaravos inside so he could shout at him, and Aaravos had… let him. In truth, Aaravos had taken a foolhardy risk, and not just with his own life. But he would have done it again. That had been their best chance to convince that city and perhaps humanity at large to throw their lot in with the dark mages. He would have gladly gambled even more lives for that. However, to get back to the topic at hand… "The rest was a fabrication. And some of the acts described further on," he mused, "did not seem physically possible. The author had some… _odd_ misconceptions about elf anatomy."

Viren made a noise somewhere between a squeak and a gulp. "Ah. So. You and this… Ziard person, you weren't actually…" His cheeks were bright red, and he was looking anywhere but at the mirror. Aaravos was reminded sharply of the first time Ziard had approached him, nervous but determined. Ziard, who was dead and burned and unremembered even by the one who now wielded his staff.

"We were," Aaravos said, distantly, "for a time." He shook his head, trying to clear it. Ziard was human, he thought viciously, he would have been dead within a scant few years anyway. And he knew what he was getting into, and the risks involved. Lights above, he'd even _planned_ for them, working hard to disseminate as much information about dark magic as widely as possible, so his efforts wouldn't die with him. And they hadn't. Centuries later, humans still retained the powers that elves and dragons had tried so hard to stamp out. Even the staff Aaravos had crafted for Ziard had survived the ages. There was no reason to be morose about any of it, except his own eventual and persistent imprisonment. _That_ should be his focus, not this sentimental nonsense. But of course Aaravos didn't manage to hide all that he meant to.

"I'm… sorry," Viren said, sounding uncertain.

Aaravos wondered if he was always so inept at basic social niceties like apologizing for bringing up one's murdered lover who'd lived and died dozens of human generations ago. But perhaps it was just as well. So many people had wasted their lives weeping over simple inevitabilities. "It was very long ago," he allowed, threading his fingers together. 

Viren nodded sharply. "Of course," he said. The sheet of parchment still hung loosely in his hands.

Aaravos eyed it. He hadn't planned to speak to Viren of Ziard, believing that was an admission of weakness too genuine to be borne. But… Viren was now accepting Aaravos's words as truth, after the human had started out so very skeptical and suspicious. Perhaps baring his throat a little more would serve to benefit him, in the long run. And he did miss Ziard terribly. He _wanted_ to speak about him, and to hear others speak about him, and to know that he hadn't been entirely erased from the world the day he faced Sol Regem atop that cursed mountain. And someone—somewhere, somewhen—had written this story because they cared about Ziard, and Aaravos, and noticed how deeply they cared about one another, or at least noticed how they revolved around each other like binary stars. It was… reassuring, somehow. So, he asked, "Shall I read you the rest?"

Viren stared at him. "You… want to keep reading?" 

Aaravos shrugged delicately. "I am still curious." He took in Viren's look of conflicted interest, and decided to tempt him further. "And I'm sure there's much you could glean about me from even just the… _lurid_ imaginings of someone who'd been around at the time."

Viren's gaze darted down at the scroll, and his cheeks pinked as though he could read those lurid imaginings as plain as day.

He didn't speak. He just, slowly, raised the parchment back up to the glass.

Aaravos smiled and, unconsciously, reached out a hand as if to smooth out the top corner. When his fingertips instead met the cold surface of the mirror, Viren shivered visibly, as though he'd felt their fingers touch. But he didn't flinch away.

Interesting.

Aaravos's smile sharpened. He trailed his finger along the glass and down the page until he found his place, and began to read once more.

**Author's Note:**

> I saw the prompt "characters react to discovering fanworks they are in" and thought, huh, what Dragon Prince character would be most likely to have fanfic written about them? And then I remembered Aaravos canonically has what I'd call fanfic written about him, which he didn't get a chance to read in the show! I have amended this. :P Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
